


Leading and Following

by Yaoi_Scribe



Category: Bleach
Genre: Also author has a bad habit of banter during sex which is weird so maybe ignore that too, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In Which Aizen is a bastard so if you don't like that please just skip this, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoi_Scribe/pseuds/Yaoi_Scribe
Summary: Sequel to Consequences in which Szayel wants to pretend everything is fine when it's clearly not and Grimmjow decides that the Octava Espada belongs to no one but himself. No matter what that might cost him.





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Szayel just wants his routine back. Simplicity is one of the things that he values most. Except Aizen throws a wrench into his plans like he seemed to have a habit of doing. If that's not enough; Grimmjow makes a startling declaration of his own...

_Disclaimer: The plot is mine and the characters are borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made._

_Author’s note: This is a continuation of a drabble-set between Grimmjow and Szayel because it felt incomplete to me._

*~*~*~*~*

_Leading and Following_

_Prologue_

He refused to think about it. Three days later and it was something he pretended had never occurred. Safer was that he made sure nothing drew the Sexta’s attention back to him in that way. And yet it made Szayel grumpy; this avoidance. 

Lips pursed in displeasure as he re-reads what he’d looked over for the third time without actually understanding it and inwardly tries to regain his focus. He had things to do and to get done before he got in trouble with those he had no hopes of leniency from. 

And yet none of the words were making sense. Giving a low, displeased huff, he pushes them to the side and lightly rubs his temples. No doubt the reason for his distracted state was off laughing at him for this. It was probably his plan all along; get him so completely off-kilter that he couldn’t work sufficiently. 

A light tap on the door has his attention and he swiftly moves to open it unsurprised to find Gin there. He was the only one who seemed to have a recognizable knock in the place. A stack of folders tells him there was something Lord Aizen needed done and he merely accepts them with a nod. No need for the man to tell him what was obvious. Besides, he was sure to have better things to do. Like play mindgames with someone foolish enough to catch his attention. Regardless, Szayel has no intention of prolonging the male in his space. 

Szayel slips back inside and closes the door before sighing and heading to the desk. While it would grant him a good deal of better focus, it still dismayed him that Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had gotten under his skin so easily. ‘Stop. Thinking. Of. It.’ The mental chastisement works only so well when it was all he could seem to think about. 

Sitting, he begins sorting through what was sent to him annoyed at the simplicity of what the other wanted from him; very few things actually challenged him mentally which was why he was often bored and playing around on his own. If he was stuck in here for a week it was for his own business because certainly anything that Aizen gave amounted to busy-work that was sure to just be the death of him. 

But for a short-period, his mind goes blissfully blank; something he could do without much consideration tended to put him on a sort of auto-pilot. And once completed leaves him feeling empty of a lot of unnecessary thoughts and ponderings. And that was a plus. He recollects the folders and heads to find the man who sent them to him. Perhaps it was a blessing in this way; busy work. It helped clear his mind and empty his tumultuous thoughts. 

What sets off his internal alarms is finding him on his throne alone. In normal situations either Gin, Tousan, or both were hovering close if not one of the other Espada. But as Szayel slowly approaches, the man seems to be completely by himself. He's not halfway there when the other would speak. 

“Is something amiss, Szayelaporro? You look perturbed.”

“Merely wondering why you’re unaccompanied. It’s not a sight I’m used to, Lord Aizen,” he answers. 

“I’m certainly quite capable of protecting myself, dear Octava. No need to fret if I would like some quiet with which to think.” 

While the words made sense, Szayel was not convinced he was telling the truth; internal alarms were going off and he was feeling quite uneasy. He tells himself that it was just the room and how empty it was that made him jumpy. But he couldn’t fully convince himself that was what had him concerned and his instincts were not something to be disregarded lightly. 

He approaches and extends the folders to him and that prickling along his skin seems to get worse and not better though he tries and push it away. “You’ve always been most punctual. I do appreciate that.”

Praise which should please him only makes him go colder. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong and he needed to...Fingers curl around his wrist and he suddenly finds himself tugged closer. “L-Lord...A-Aizen?” 

“Do I make you nervous?”

No, this had nothing to do with being nervous and everything to do with being suddenly and completely terrified. But he had asked a question and to not answer would be worse he was sure. “A little bit. I-is there something I can do for you?” He watches as he sets the folders to the side to bring that hand back letting the digits brush the side of his face while his lips curve into a smile that sinks Szayel’s heart low in his chest because he'd seen it before. ‘No, oh please no. Please not here…’ Though he was sure the plea was going to be ignored. Like every other one before it. He knew what was coming. Should have realized the moment he walked into the empty room. Usually it was his study which might be why...His thoughts are cut off by the male's familiar response. 

“Actually, dear Octava, there is…” 

Sometimes, just sometimes Szayel hates everything about himself. But refusing was not an option; not a viable one anyway. Perhaps if he wasn’t so afraid of death then he’d refuse and tell him where he could take his sense of self-importance. But the truth is that he’s not ready for that so he merely lowers his gaze like a good subordinate and kneels on the hard floor between the others legs. He wonders if this was the position he’d be taking for the rest of his life and is not quite liking the answer he was getting. 

But that was a consideration for another time because he needed to get this done before someone came in and saw him servicing the male like some whore. If it was Loly or Menoly then he was sure to earn their hissing commentary later on about them being more suitable for their lord. Any of the other Espada and he might not be so lucky the next time one of them took ill with him.

The raise in reaitsu warns him that the male wasn't in good humor for him to wool-gather and he pushes everything away. He could do this. He would do this. It was easy. Pain always was.

*~*~*~*~*

It takes rinsing his mouth six times before he gets the taste out. Body shaking and sure there were new bruises, he tells himself that he could handle this and that he was not going to fall apart. From there, he goes to the shower letting the hot water and soap make him at least feel clean if nothing else as he tries to compartmentalize the whole situation. Getting passed it was key but it wasn’t like it wouldn’t come with it’s own repercussions and Szayel wonders if at some point he’ll avoid physical contact of any sort. 

Stepping into the room to find something to put on, he finds himself brushing against the familiar robe. Freezing, he finds himself staring at the garment a moment before a choked sound would escape him and he’d jerk back as if burnt. 

Pathetic. It was so pathetic that of all the things that sends him to his knees in a fit of emotional dismay was the goddamn robe Grimmjow had him splayed in. Why...of all things did this have such a profoundly crippling emotional response?! He covers his face and tries to calm down before he worked himself into a fit but nothing seemed to want to cooperate with him today. 

His heightened emotional state leaves him kneeling and worn on the floor. Trembling and feeling on the cusp of something that would probably end badly, he struggles to stand and stumbles to land face-first on his bed. He wasn’t moving or opening that door even if the entirety of the Soul-Society invaded. He didn’t care. 

Curling up on his side, he stares blankly at the wall wondering if death was anything close to this horrific. He was having a hard time believing it anymore. ‘What did you expect?’ comes the inner sneering he expects, ‘I mean how many times do you have to hear that you have few admirable abilities. What do you think keeps you as an Espada here?’ 

His fingers dig into the sheets as he struggles to quiet the inner demons that seemed to like to take what was left of him when his walls were down and he couldn’t busy himself with something else. Outside, footsteps have him freezing because right now he did not want someone in his personal space while he was not only littered with bruises, naked, and too emotionally drained to protect himself. 

Of course the silent god he could not believe in is still not listening as the door opens. “Granz, you bein’ lazy ag...Szayel?!”

Grimmjow’s voice makes him flinch and tighten further. “J-just go away...Please…” Because the thought of him seeing him like this was far worse than he expected. And the sound of the door shutting is worse as part of him had hoped that…

A hand against his back has him jerking sharply. “Easy, Octava,” the male soothes before his voice sharpens, “Aizen? The hell does he think we are?”

“His,” comes Szayel’s quiet answer, “And he’d be right. Don’t...be stupid, Sexta.” Not that he thought the other was at all interested in making someone pay for something so trivial as working him over. 

“Breaking his pretty face might actually be worth it.”

Alarm fills him and he looks over his shoulder. “Grimmjow, don’t you ever say something like that!”

“Who’s gonna tell ‘im, you? I doubt bein’ near him is on your list of things to do if ya can help it. Besides, I’m not the only one who hates him. Ain’t nothing to be done ‘bout it, I know that. Suppose that leaves fixin’ what I can, right?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve been told that at time or two,” he answers wondering if he could now make himself comfortably small again. And hears rustling which should warn him of what was coming and yet the feel of the other sliding overtop him still has him startled. “G-Grimmjow…”

“Hush,” the other tells him as he nuzzles his shoulder, “Just relax, Granz.”

“What are you doing?”

That earns a low chuckle against his skin. “Well, you if you’d relax for me and stop asking stupid questions.” It’s followed by the feel of his lips against his skin which has Szayel gasping as he’d shift so that he’s laying on his stomach. “Mmm, so much better,” comes the purr against his skin before he’d nip at the flesh. Szayel wants to tell him not to bother, that there was no point in touching him like this but he can’t seem to get the words to escape. All he can manage are low groans and sighs as Grimmjow maps out his back with his mouth moving across his shoulders and down his spine which has him arching and whining nerves more sensitive here than he’d like. 

And the other would take advantage of this; moving slowly and methodically knowing he was enjoying it as he grips his sheets and shifts beneath him. And then the other would make himself comfortable at the foot of the bed nudging his legs further apart. “S-Sexta….” He wasn’t about to do that again was he? Because the noises he made while the other lavished that much intimate attention highly embarrassed the pink-haired Espada. 

And a low chuckle warns him that the other knew exactly why he didn’t want him to do it and that he intended to because of that before his tongue would flick over the sensitized skin. Szayel nearly lurches at the feeling and his hips are caught lightly in the other’s hands as it would be repeated again and again. And Szayel’s frazzled mind takes a few minutes to realize that he was testing to see how he’d react. 

Grimmjow was making sure he could handle touch here. And that is something he didn’t know what to do with. Because it was not a consideration he ever expected to be given. He shifts slowly to arch his back before managing, “I'm not made of glass, Sexta.” Of course this obviously encourages things which means that the next swipe of his tongue has the appendage burrowing deeply into him. “A-ahh!” He hadn’t been ready; frazzled nerves set off by pain were now too receptive for pleasure and he presses his face into his pillow embarrassed by just how desperate, how loud the touches make him. 

Of course it just encourages the other to continue to drowned him in this bliss which has him gasping and whining out his name between each panting breath. Grimmjow takes his time rocking him with every thrust of that tongue over and over until his nerves are exploding with pleasure.

He repeats this sending him over the edge three times before he’d actually start to open him with his fingers. And as good as it feels, it’s not what Szayel wants. And that desire is a most dangerous thing.

Finally, he cannot stand it; this gentle rub of digits along his skin. “F-fuck me like you mean it,” he grits out, “D-dammit, Grimmjow, I’m not made of glass.”

“Never said you were,” comes the others response, “And yer not gettin’ me any faster’n this. That bastard hurt you. Be patient would ya?”

Szayel glares over his shoulder at him. “I’m fine, Sexta. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

The other crooks his finger in response making him arch and his head drop into his pillow with a choked sound. “Well, I don’t agree so we’re goin’ with how I feel about the situation,” Grimmjow remarks, “So you’re just going to have to put up with how I want to do this.” 

He wants to be angry or offended. What Szayel doesn’t want to be, and is, is grateful and pleased with the other Espada’s choice of going slowly and carefully building the fire to an almost fever pitch through him. Wanting something like that was dangerous and in some cases deadly. 

But it was too hard to think and analyze things right at the moment so he merely moves with those tormenting fingers. Damned panther was going to be the death of him. His hips undulate and buck harder and harder against him. “Please….Please...Sexta…Grimmjow...I need...you...please…”

“Mmm, now that I like to hear,” he rumbles approvingly, “Just a little longer, m’kay?”

He didn’t want to wait; he wanted to feel him fill him until it was almost too much. But he could sense that there was nothing he could do to rush him. Szayel swallows thickly struggling with the raging want that the other incited him. “I…”

“I know what ya wantin’, Octava. Yer just not gonna forget how this feels so that when our ‘loving’ god decides that it amuses him to touch ya then it won’t leave an imprint. I’ll be all you can think about when you think about intimacies.”

“Why would you care?!” The demand comes out in a strangely sharp tone despite his emotions, “Why, Sexta, does it matter so much to you?”

And those fingers would be withdrawn at the demand before he’d find himself rolled back onto his back to stare up at the other. “Yer a real idiot if that’s an honest question, Szayel. Do I look the type do things like this on a whim? Give me some credit; I’m a violent bastard and I’ll claim that but I ain’t lowerin’ myself to sexual abuse. Yer...fucking infuriating as hell but there is no one here that makes me as crazy as you do. And at the end of the goddamn day, Granz; yer mine.” 

Szayel stills. Did he just...No, there was no way that he was serious. “I belong to no one, Jaegerjacques, and I mean no one. L-least of all you.” He’s sure that this much of a visceral reaction is going to get him either left in this half-satisfied state or the other angry enough to hit him; neither of which he truly wants but his defenses are back up and he cannot manage to lower them back down. 

To his surprise, the other chuckles before murmuring, “Remind me not to have serious conversations while you’re horny. It makes you prickly as hell. Calm down, Szay, and let me finish. Then we’ll talk.” He gives a fanged grin, “And we -are- going to talk ‘bout this.”

“You apparently didn’t…” And whatever he would say never finishes as with one smooth motion has the other buried in him arching his back and eliciting a tremulous whine of pleasure. 

What is worse is that his position has his gaze caught in the others; molten gold locking with darkened blue and Grimmjow grins as he rocks his hips sharply eliciting another cry and another sharp jerk of his body. 

Dammit, he shouldn’t be able to win an argument like this. But then fair had never been something that Grimmjow Jaegerjacques was good at. What he was good at though was making a complete mess of him and he does it with every thrust alternating long and slow with short and fast completely short-circuiting his nerves and leaving him squirming and crying out loudly beneath him. 

“That’s it,” comes the low, groaned approval, “C’mon and let go for me, Octava.”

Szayel’s back arches as he reaches and grips the others shoulders fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase. “A-ah...f-f...G-Grimmjow…”

“Heh...I know ya can do better’n that, Granz. Let me hear ya scream for me, Octava.” He follows this with a sharp thrust against his prostate that has Szayelaporro’s back arching and him complying without much more incentive. “Nngnn...Fuck...that’s it…”

And it would be repeated over and over until he’s panting and trembling against the other. Fingers gently thread through his hair. “Heh...yer definitely something.”

“Sh-shut up,” he mumbles snuggling closer to him, “‘M tired…”

“I would hope so,” comes Grimmjow’s reply as he tugs the blankets up around them both, “Rest, I’ll be here when you wake up and we’ll talk.”

Szayel wants to tell him that he has no interest in continuing their conversation but cannot seem to find the ability to argue with the warmth flooding him and how good it feels to be tugged against the other. Amber eyes flutter a couple of times before he finally just decides that sleep was a good idea. He’d handle everything else when he woke up.


End file.
